The apparent evasiveness of the reply caused Charity's indignation to
overflow. "I don't know why you should. I could understand Orma Fry's
doing it, because she's always wanted to get me out of here ever since
the first day. I can't see why, when she's got her own home, and her
father to work for her; nor Ida Targatt, neither, when she got a legacy
from her step-brother on'y last year. But anyway we all live in the
same place, and when it's a place like North Dormer it's enough to make
people hate each other just to have to walk down the same street every
day. But you don't live here, and you don't know anything about any of
us, so what did you have to meddle for? Do you suppose the other girls'd
have kept the books any better'n I did? Why, Orma Fry don't hardly know
a book from a flat-iron! And what if I don't always sit round here
doing nothing till it strikes five up at the church? Who cares if the
library's open or shut? Do you suppose anybody ever comes here for
books? What they'd like to come for is to meet the fellows they're going
with if I'd let 'em. But I wouldn't let Bill Sollas from over the hill
hang round here waiting for the youngest Targatt girl, because I know
him... that's all... even if I don't know about books all I ought to...."

She stopped with a choking in her throat. Tremors of rage were running
through her, and she steadied herself against the edge of the desk lest
he should see her weakness.

What he saw seemed to affect him deeply, for he grew red under his
sunburn, and stammered out: "But, Miss Royall, I assure you... I assure
you...."

His distress inflamed her anger, and she regained her voice to fling
back: "If I was you I'd have the nerve to stick to what I said!"